


Only True in Fairy Tales

by blackkat



Series: criminals do it better [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Also kind of, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Caper Fic, Friendship, Genderfluid Character, Humor, M/M, Minor Injuries, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, it’s only noon and I've already been shot twice and had a flower vase broken over my head. I’d hate to see what the rest of the day has in store for me.” </p><p>(Or, the continuing adventures of Obito the eco-warrior/somewhat-reformed terrorist and his besotted boyfriend Kakashi.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. love was out to get me

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt from Tumblr, the bastion of bad ideas. This fic was, at various times in its creation, titled “On Knights, Damsels, and Princesses, and Why Obito Will Never Be the Latter Fuck You Very Much”, “Obito's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day”, “Love In a Time of Assholes”, and “How Not to Propose (Or That One Book Kakashi Clearly Never Read)”. I think that says a lot more about the plot than the summary ever will. Title is, as you probably guessed, from Smash Mouth’s _I'm A Believer_. I regret nothing. 
> 
> This fic is complete in four chapters, but I’m going to be posting them about every other day to give me more time to edit my ridiculousness. Comments are, as always, totally loved!

 “Tenzō! I didn’t realize you’d gotten out of jail already!” Obito says brightly, waving at the tall, brown-haired man just collecting his coffee.

Kakashi blinks across the table at his boyfriend, long and slow.

With a friendly, slightly sheepish wave in return, Tenzō detours to their table, carefully setting down his ceramic travel mug and slinging his messenger bag over the back of the chair. As he takes a seat, he gives Kakashi a curious once-over, then nods to his friend. “Hey, Obito. Yeah, they're not pressing charges this time, which is probably good. I think Sai was going to quit if he had to bail me out one more time.”

“Should I take my badge off for this conversation?” Kakashi wants to know, casting a slightly wary glance between Obito and Tenzō. Obito just waves him off.

“Not unless you're opposed to peaceful protests,” he says dismissively. “Cops are assholes sometimes.”

Kakashi makes a wounded, deeply offended sound into his latte (not organic, no matter how Obito had needled him, because he’s an incurable cheapskate). “No offense?” he suggests, raising a brow.

Because he can, and because he has never denied being just as much of an asshole, Obito just gives him a toothy grin. “Sorry, sweetheart, offense totally intended. You forget my entire family is on the force. And you're not doing much to change my opinion, either.”

“Which reminds me,” Tenzō cuts in, and Obito drags his gaze away from Kakashi, who’s doing a decent impression of a pout. “Shisui in Booking wanted me to say hello for him.”

Before Obito can answer, Kakashi makes a noise of disbelief. “You get arrested so often that you're on a first-name basis with the Booking officer?” he asks dryly.

Obito laughs, because he’s known Tenzō long enough to be aware of how the man looks—like a laid-back hipster professor, mostly, and this is a common reaction to finding out about his record. “And most of the beat cops,” he chimes in. “And a good portion of the riot troops as well. Haven’t you heard of Yamato the protester?”

Kakashi's face smooths into perfect blankness, and he takes a careful sip of his coffee, deliberately not answering. Then, after another moment, he offers, “You look…different, with all of your clothes on.”

For once, it’s not what it sounds like. Obito remembers that protest, if only from the video footage an entirely gleeful and slightly petty Sai sent him while he was overseas. He also remembers the way one brave soul had tackled Tenzō with a blanket and then dragged him away in cuffs. Odd, that he hadn’t connected the wild silver hair with his boyfriend until just now. It makes him swallow a snicker, hiding his grin in the froth of his cappuccino.

Tenzō just smiles politely. “Officer,” he returns. “I'm Tenzō Yamato. It’s good to officially meet you.”

“Detective now,” Kakashi corrects. “Detective Kakashi Hatake. Good to…meet you too.”

His expression valiantly attempts to remain gracious and friendly. Just for making the effort, Obito is entirely willing to forgive the faint twitch of one eye that belies it.

“Do you have classes today?” he cuts in, much to Kakashi's evident relief.

Tenzō checks his watch and winces. “Yeah. Sorry, I should head out before I'm late. Otherwise Sai will stare at me all day with his serial killer smile, and I've got the freshman classes this term. They don’t need to see that.” Standing, he slings his bag back over his shoulder and bobs his head to Kakashi, then smiles at Obito. “I heard we got enough signatures on that petition to bring it in front of the city council. Are you going to be at the meeting?”

“Have I ever missed it when I was in the country?” Obito waves him off. “See you Friday.”

With a quick wave back, Tenzō ducks through the dwindling crowd and out the door into the chilly winter morning. Kakashi watches him go, eyes almost unreadable, and then says, “I heard he’s been arrested more times than any three other people in the city.”

Obito attempts to recall the number, fails miserably, and shrugs, swiping his finger around the rim of his mug. “It’s possible. Tenzō tends to get involved in pretty much every protest or movement that happens. He’s definitely a social crusader. Most of it’s for small stuff, though, like hanging up signs where he shouldn’t or—”

“Or picketing a clothing outlet naked to protest sweatshop conditions?” Kakashi finishes dryly, but his eyes are fixed on Obito's finger as he lifts it to his mouth.

With a laugh, Obito surrenders the point. “Or that,” he agrees, and just to be cheeky takes extra time licking the foamed milk off his skin. The low, hungry sound Kakashi makes is extremely gratifying.

“I don’t suppose I could just call in sick today?” the other man asks, slightly plaintive.

Obito doesn’t bother to hide the way he laughs at him. “No,” he says mercilessly, if slightly regretfully. “You have paperwork to do, and I have errands to run. Besides, your shift starts in ten minutes and—” He gives the man staring holes in Kakashi from the corner a cheerful wave “—Uncle Fugaku would be incredibly suspicious if you made it all the way here to have breakfast with me and _then_ skipped out on work.”

To Kakashi's credit, he doesn’t flinch under his boss’s intent gaze, though his shoulders do slump slightly. “Is everyone in your family rabidly overprotective?” he laments, but drains the last of his latte and rises to his feet. Obito rises with him, and when Kakashi reaches out with an undeniably fond expression he takes his hand without bothering to protest.

“Walk me to work?” Kakashi suggests winsomely.

It would take a harder man than Obito not to smile back. “Sure,” he agrees, and as Kakashi turns to lead them out the door he shoots his uncle a warning glance. Fugaku winces a little in acknowledgement and nods his understanding. Should Mikoto learn that Obito is dating, Obito will have no compunctions telling the Uchiha matriarch that Fugaku has been exceeding his one-cup-a-day coffee limit, and vice versa.

Blackmail is truly a wonderful thing.

January in Konoha is miserable, and as they step out into the wind Obito wastes no time zipping his jacket all the way up to his chin, then huddling into his scarf. His hand is warm, at least, because Kakashi doubles as a mobile heater, and Obito presses just a little closer. Kakashi smiles at him from behind his own scarf and drapes an arm over Obito's shoulders. Reaching up, Obito tangles their fingers, and lets himself relax just a little. It’s still something he needs to get used to, this closeness, the idea of actually being in a relationship again. He and Nagato were never this touchy-feely, either, though Kakashi always excels in being a complete _sap_.

“Dinner tonight?” Obito asks as the station comes into view. Somewhere in the city, over the noise of the morning traffic, a church bell starts to chime the seventh hour.

“I could go for Italian,” Kakashi says agreeably. “Want me to pick it up on my way? There's that new place on Atlantic, between Ninth and the park.”

Vaguely, Obito recalls seeing a grand opening sign somewhere in that area, but Kakashi always seems to have a better memory for that kind of thing. Obito remembers streets and alleys; Kakashi notices the landmarks.

“Sounds good to me. You know what I like.” With a small smile, he ducks out of Kakashi's hold, turning to face the taller man and giving his hand one last squeeze. “Call when you're on your way?”

Kakashi leans forward, eyes warm, and kisses him gently. It’s not a statement, has nothing to prove; just a goodbye, a quiet ‘I’ll miss you’ and ‘I’ll see you soon’, clearer than any words could be. For just a moment they're a stationary island in the stream of pedestrians going by, and Obito feels a little like they're caught in between seconds, suspended in the grip of a warm, happy memory, and he can't remember a time when he enjoyed anything quite so much.

When Kakashi finally steps back, Obito has to clear his throat before the words will come, and when they do, they're rough with emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time. “Go on,” he chides. “You're going to be late. And since you dragged me out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn to have breakfast with you, you needy loser, I might as well start being productive.”

Three months of dating means Kakashi is familiar enough with Obito's habits that he just chuckles. “We’re pretending you don’t wake up before I do, now?” he asks fondly, eyes crinkling with humor.

Obito huffs at him, crossing his arms over his chest (and he will forever deny that it’s to recapture a bit of the heat that left with Kakashi's hand). “We can't all be lazy assholes,” he retorts. “Go to work. I’ll see you tonight.”

Kakashi smiles at him, leans in to steal one last glancing kiss, and then turns on his heel and saunters up the steps, waving over his shoulder as he goes. Obito watches until he’s through the precinct’s wide doors and out of sight, and rubs at the stubborn curl of warmth that refuses to leave his chest.

Yeah, okay, he thinks, smiling to himself in the middle of the street like a fool. Early hour or not, that’s a pretty damned good way to start a morning.

 

 

Even in Obito's fairly busy neighborhood, the grocery store is all but deserted at just after seven. Since he’s spent the last few months—with a handful of notable exceptions—employed solely as Mikoto’s gofer, and is used to getting groceries in the afternoon when the entire world seems to be made up of screaming children and harried mothers, it’s a nice change, if a little eerie. Obito keeps his head down and his eye on his list, thankful just to be shopping for himself and Kakashi for once.

Just as he’s making his way to the self-checkout, his phone rings. Obito huffs a sigh and slaps at his pockets for a moment before finding it, swearing to himself that if it’s Kakashi texting him more cat pictures, someone is going to die. Of course, it could also be Kakashi's partner Iruka, trying to find the bastard; Kakashi has a bad habit of wandering off between the station’s doors and his own desk. Sometimes Obito has less than zero idea of what he sees in the lazy jerk.

Finally finding and retrieving his phone—after the ringing has already stopped, because that’s just how his life goes—Obito pulls it out and only just manages not to beam dopily at the picture on the lock screen. It’s him and Kakashi, mugging for the camera, and…okay. _Maybe_ Kakashi is kind of cute. Just maybe.

Obito totally doesn’t brush his thumb over Kakashi's face as he types in his password. That would just be ridiculous and corny. He _doesn’t_.

But when the call log screen finally comes up, Obito stops in his tracks, frowning. It’s an unknown number, an uninterrupted string of digits that shouldn’t mean anything at all. Most people would glance at it and assume a telemarketer, or maybe a wrong number.

Except for the fact that Obito recognizes the opening of a code that no one in the world knows, beyond himself and eight others.

Right on cue, his phone buzzes again, this time with a text. Another unknown number, but a different one, and the only thing to the message is a long string of numbers without breaks. Obito stares at it for a moment, shopping basket hanging forgotten in his hand, and narrows his eye. It’s easy enough to decipher, given his experience, but once he’s puzzled it out he almost wishes that he hadn’t.

 _Keep your head down_ , is all it says.

That is…the singularly most unhelpful message ever. Obito's hand clenches around his phone in frustration and he growls softly, a spark of his old anger flaring up again. He’s gotten better, this last year and change, but he’s always had a problem with his temper. Already he can tell that this isn’t going to help.

Judging by the contents, the warning is from Sasori, who’s a taciturn bastard on the best of days. Or it’s from Hidan, and he’s trying to fuck with Obito. Possibly Konan, who has a bad habit of mothering (especially bad considering that eight vicious, ruthless convicted terrorists do not generally appreciate being reminded to do laundry regularly, or eat their vegetables). Or it could be from Kakuzu, and the man simply can't presently be bothered to write anything more comprehensive.

Maybe Obito needs better friends.

Taking a breath, Obito deletes the message, wipes his call history, and tucks his phone away. One of the store clerks is giving him a wary look, so he forces himself to smile at her, then busies himself scanning his groceries and arranging them in his recycled cotton shopping bags. As quickly as he can, he gets out of the store and into the open, where the workday crowd is starting to thicken and grow. The visibility itches at him, like eyes on the back of his head, but Obito makes himself keep a steady pace, rather than bolting for home the way his subconscious wants him to. He’s had practice shutting out his self-preservation instincts, after all.

The day is bright, for all it’s chilly, and Obito glances up, judging the position of the sun and resulting shadows. He’s thinking of snipers, of cold, impersonal bullets fired from a distance and a spray of blood within the crowd. A small, particularly morbid part of him wonders if his case will end up on Kakashi's desk, if assassination is something that his boyfriend would be assigned to. He hasn’t asked—has mostly kept his nose as far out of Kakashi's work as possible, since he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about his own occupation. The regret niggles at him now, just a small thought in the back of his mind as he scans the street.

Keep his head down. Well, Obito has hardly been doing anything else these last few months. Almost two years now, since he got back from the Middle East, weary and aching right down to the core of him. He hasn’t left the city much, has hardly left this area of it even, and the only people he’s kept in contact with are his teammates. Even Rin’s mandatory check-ins have stretched out to just about every month, rather than every week. Obito hasn’t gone anywhere, hasn’t seen anyone suspicious, hasn’t done anything questionable beyond using his missing eye to blackmail Kakashi into walking to work rather than driving.

Honestly, if his head gets any lower, it will be in a _grave_.

He wonders, distantly, a little guiltily, whether he should feel bad for the faint thrill down his spine when he thinks of the current danger.

Technically, he should stop right now, call Rin and inform her of the situation, head back into the city and wait for whatever team she’ll doubtless send to whisk him away to a safe location. That’s the protocol, but…

But the threat is vague, hardly even a threat at all. Just a warning, and Obito isn’t some twitchy two-bit criminal jumping at shadows. (He’s not _actually_ a criminal at all anymore, but he blithely ignores that fact.) He’s hardly about to shatter almost two years of hard-won, well-earned peace on the off chance that the message he got wasn’t one of his friends being an asshole. And if it is a real threat, well—Obito is more than capable of surviving just about anything the world can throw at him, and has proved it many times over.

He takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and keeps walking.

His apartment is well back from the busy shopping avenues, close to the quieter parkway that’s frequented by joggers more often than any heavy traffic. The building is old, with an elevator that works dubiously when it works at all, but the apartments are large and spacious for what they cost, and the other tenants keep to themselves. Obito makes his way up the stairs, minding his steps out of more than just habit for once, and contemplates leaving his bags at the landing while he does a sweep of his rooms. He’s daring, not stupid, after all. And—

With his key an inch from the lock, Obito pauses, holding his breath. Silence, the murmur of the couple two floors below him, more silence, and then—

A creak. Soft, barely audible over the rumble of a car going by on the street, but nevertheless distinct. Footsteps over the creaking floorboards within his apartment, when there shouldn’t be. Obito's not an animal person, doesn’t have a cat, and while he has no doubt that Kakashi would sneak an animal into his home just to mess with him, he’s seen Kakashi's level of attention to the little things. It’s amazing his plant with the stupid name has survived as long as it has. Besides, they left together this morning, and he had no chance to come back.

Suddenly, that warning is looking a lot less vague.

Another creak, this time from behind him, and Obito reacts on instinct. He drops his bags and throws himself forward, even as the muffled _crack_ of a gun with a silencer shatters the quiet. Shots pepper his groceries, shattering a glass bottle and sending egg exploding out over the hallway. More hit the door, following just behind Obito as he dives, rolls, and comes to his feet, still moving, aiming himself at the drafty storm window at the end of the hall.

Another shot, just behind him, and Obito would swear if he could spare the breath. Another, and he knows it’s probably the last in the magazine—9mm Glock 17, by the sound, and Obito's trained himself to hear such things, 17-round capacity unless it’s a modified magazine, muzzle velocity of 375 meters per second, effective range of 50 meters—which means the shooter will have to reload unless he’s carrying another gun. The shot clips his shoulder in a splatter of blood and a sudden blaze of agony, but though a cry tears from Obito's lips he doesn’t pause.

The window is old, two thin panes rather than the modern style of thick, heavy glass, and Obito hits it with his good shoulder leading. It shatters under the force of the blow, shards exploding outward, and Obito goes after them. He hangs, for a breathless moment feeling untouched by even gravity, before reality reasserts itself. The glass falls like deadly rain, but Obito grabs onto the edge of the fire escape and lets it redirect his momentum. A jerk as he crashes into the metal, fire spreading across his side from the graze, but Obito ignores the pain and kicks off the grating, dropping down to the next level of the steps. There's a curse from above him, a rush of footsteps, but Obito doesn’t pause to get a look at his attackers. He throws himself down the outside of the fire escape without care for the pain, hardly heeding the drop, and hits the ground in the tiny, weed-choked garden already moving. Ducking between the half-rotten slats of the high wooden fence, he dives left, dodges around the neighboring building’s tiny water feature, and squeezes down a narrow alley that just barely fits a bike rack and several garbage cans. Then he’s out in the street, moving fast as he heads for the park.

His shoulder aches and burns, throbbing fiercely, but Obito grits his teeth, ignores the startled jogger he cuts off as he bolts across the path, and rips his scarf from around his neck. The trees are thick, if not quite thick enough for Obito's peace of mind, and he wades directly into the densest stand of them, putting his back to a particularly wide trunk and stripping off his jacket with a few rough motions. His head is buzzing, full of greyscale panic that’s quickly shading into cold calculation as he ties his scarf tightly around the graze and pulls his coat back on to hide it. The arm doesn’t want to move, and Obito already feels a little lightheaded from blood loss, but it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before.

Grimacing, Obito drops his head back against the mossy bark, trying to think. Attackers in his apartment, but only two—either they're underestimating him or they didn’t want to cause a scene. Given the fact that the second person had no qualms opening fire, even with other people present in the building, Obito is willing to assume the former.

It makes him grin, all teeth and no humor. Underestimation he can handle.

Pulling out his phone, Obito stares at it for a moment, then unlocks it and opens one of the innocuous apps Sasori had made sure all of their phones had. It looks like a generic racing game until Obito types in his password, and then a simple number-pad appears. Another second to recall their code, and Obito inputs his message and hits send.

_Tobi on the move. All hands, sound off._

Even though the entire team will give a message like that an immediate response, Obito slips his phone back into his pocket and starts moving again. He can't waste time, and this spot is far too close to his apartment for comfort. While there were only two people waiting for him, Obito has little doubt that those two have allies they can call on—after all, even if they're underestimating him, anything less would just be stupid. And if they managed to get past the security system Nagato upgraded himself, they can't be complete idiots.

Right now, he needs cover, a safe place to go to ground as soon as he finds out that the rest of his team’s okay. Barring that, he needs to get somewhere busy, and let the crowd swallow him while he puts distance between himself and his apartment. He’s absolutely certain that someone in his building or the next one over called the police—silencers don’t exactly make guns _silent,_ after all, no matter what action movies might claim—which adds another complication: Kakashi.

For one brief, half-mad instant, Obito reaches for his phone again, wanting to call to hear Kakashi's voice and assure the man that he’s fine, wanting to tell him to get to safety and—

But if the attackers knew where Obito lives, it’s guaranteed that they know about Kakashi. More than likely that they're watching him, too, and if Obito calls now it will just put them both in danger. He wants to protect Kakashi even more than he wants to hear his voice, so with a grim thread of resignation twisting at his gut—because what will be left when the smoke clears? If he keeps going what will be left of his relationship with Kakashi when it’s all over?—he puts his head down and slips into the midst of a group of people waiting for the light.

One or two of the more observant pedestrians give him a sideways glance, but Obito ignores them, too, fixing his eye on the dark blue beanie sticking out of one man’s back pocket. It’s the work of half a second to swipe it as the crossing light turns green, and Obito slips it into his jacket and strides down a left-hand side-street as the man goes straight. As soon as he’s out of sight, Obito jams the hat onto his head, shucks off his jacket, and stuffs it under a mailbox. The scarf around his arm is more obvious without it, but Obito can't take the chance that the gunman will remember what he was wearing. Better to get a few alarmed looks as he makes for the subway than risk them finding him so easily.

His phone starts to chime as he slides into the crowd and heads for the station that will take him towards the city center. With half of his attention on his surroundings, Obito pulls it out, brushes his thumb over Kakashi's face one last time before ruthlessly strangling the sentiment, and checks his messages. More unknown numbers, more strings of digits, and even as he watches the last four drop into his inbox.

_Pein moving. Heading for Point N._

_Angel moving. Pein in sight. Meeting at Point N._

_Beast stationary. Will convene on Point F ASAP._

_Gardener moving. Going underground. Will start weeding._

_Puppeteer stationary. Checking strings. Several bites. Will contact with information when acquired._

_Zombie stationary. Point F clear._

_Bomber moving. Supply check, then will assist Puppeteer._

_Priest moving. Will secure bolt-hole. Contact if transport necessary._

Damn, but Obito loves his team sometimes. Almost two years out of any real field, but they still work like a well-oiled machine, either together or apart. That they’ve already mobilized, just from his text—that’s a reprieve he hadn’t expected. Letting out a careful breath of relief, he does one more quick check of his surroundings, then answers Zetsu’s message. _Gardener, my apartment—police info possible._

A hesitation and then he answers Hidan’s as well. _Priest, need to visit Snake. No transport required. Can set up, Y/N?_

Hidan’s response is an address, an account number, and _Will tell Snake to leave schedule open. Contact if change in status._

Hard on the heels of that comes Konan's second message. _Tobi—status?_

Oops. That’s the downside to their open messaging system, and he’d forgotten. _Graze only_ , _Angel_ , he types back, starting down the subway stairs. Just before he loses his signal, he adds, _Will be out of contact—30 min tops. C Train to Broad St, pursuit possible, not likely._

He doesn’t wait for an acknowledgement, but shuts his phone off and sprints for the train that’s just about to depart, ducking into the car two down from the conductor just before the doors slide fully shut. It’s packed with morning commuters, all busy with their phones or papers, and Obito steps back into the shadows of the door between the cars, ducking his head to avoid catching anyone’s eye. With his scars and eyepatch, he’s a distinctive man, and a beanie can only do so much to hide that. The police will be looking for him, given the scene at his apartment, but Obito can't afford to let them find him. Not when he doesn’t know who’s after him, or why.

Even more puzzling is the fact that none of the others have been attacked. All throughout their careers, he’s made a point of staying under the radar, letting Nagato take the lead in public. From an outside perspective, Obito is smack in the middle of the team’s hierarchy, not the youngest, not the oldest, not the most valuable or the least. For someone to see through that act, to figure out that _he’s_ the one leading Akatsuki and always has been—that’s worrying.

If whoever is after them managed to dig any deeper, to uncover the secrets they’ve kept buried for so long…

That could be disastrous.


	2. when i wanted sunshine, i got rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that I will soon be (unhappily) otherwise occupied with a workplace seminar, I'm bumping updates up to every day. Hopefully anyone reading will get some entertainment out of my madness. orz
> 
>  
> 
> I believe it was mostly clear in context, but the Akatsuki code names are as follows: Obito/Tobi, Nagato/Pein, Konan/Angel, Kisame/Beast, Zetsu/Gardener, Sasori/Puppeteer, Deidara/Bomber, Kakuzu/Zombie, Hidan/Priest. For obvious reasons (hopefully?).

Kakashi is trying to subtly shove some of his stacks of paperwork onto Iruka's desk when a quiet knock on the privacy divider makes him look up. A long, slow blink takes in the form of the Police Chief’s eldest son and top SWAT captain, standing at the edge of their cubicle looking even grimmer than normal.

“Itachi,” Kakashi says politely, already wondering if this is going to be yet another hurt-him-and-I’ll-make-sure-they-never-even-open-a-missing-person-investigation speech. So far he’s gotten them from Fugaku, Shisui, Mikoto, and Commissioner Madara himself. Sasuke's version doesn’t even bear mentioning, mostly because Kakashi is going to have trouble sleeping for the next year or so when he thinks about it too hard. The kid is terrifyingly imaginative.

Itachi's expression doesn’t waver, but the lines around his eyes somehow seem to grow deeper. “Kakashi,” he returns, then glances around. “Is your partner present?”

“Coffee break,” Kakashi says blithely, though he can't actually remember where Iruka said he was going—growled, more accurately—when he finally got sick of Kakashi mooning over his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Can I help you with something?”

The younger man hesitates, which is enough of a tell that Kakashi drops his pen and sits up straight, regarding him warily. Not a shovel talk, then.

“We just received a report of multiple shots fired,” Itachi finally says, careful and deliberate, and in that moment Kakashi places the expression creeping out from behind the Uchiha-standard blank mask: it’s worry. “It was…right in front of my cousin’s apartment. I'm on my way to the crime scene now. It goes against department policy, but…would you like to accompany me? I'm sure Father will make allowances.”

It’s possible Kakashi's heart stopped, two words into the second sentence. Equally possible that it’s still not beating, because there's a ferocious ache in his chest and a jangle of worry like every alarm in the building going off in his head. He’s on his feet before he’s even considered the motion, jacket in one hand and phone in the other as he shoots Iruka a near-frantic text to say he’s leaving. Itachi nods, then spins on his heel and strides away, and Kakashi falls into step with him.

“Have you heard anything?” he demands as they make for the parking garage. “Is Obito—”

Itachi's mouth tightens unhappily, but he shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “However, I am Obito's emergency contact and have yet to hear of him being admitted to the hospital. He is…not answering his phone, though.”

Kakashi tries to tell himself that doesn’t mean much. Obito is terrible about answering his phone, or forgetting it in odd places. Usually Kakashi doesn’t bother leaving a message, just calls back three times so that Obito will have enough opportunity to find it, get it out, and answer it. “You called back?” he asks, sliding into the passenger seat of Itachi's car the moment the door in unlocked.

Itachi flicks him a glance that is even grimmer than before. “It’s off,” he says shortly, and Kakashi winces.

He’s never, ever seen Obito turn his phone off before, even when he should. Maybe it’s not a clear sign of foul play, but it definitely means something happened.

(A small part of his brain reminds him that if the phone was destroyed it would register as off. With all of the determination he can muster, Kakashi shuts that thought away as Itachi roars out into traffic. Some things don’t bear contemplating, and that’s most certainly one of them.)

 

 

When Itachi finally pulls up in front of the apartment building, a detective Kakashi knows is waiting to meet them. He nods at Kurenai, who nods back with a sympathetic smile.

“Kakashi, Itachi,” she says. “We’ve got the scene secured. This way.”

“Have you found Obito yet?” Kakashi asks, keeping pace up the stairs. “It was near his apartment, right?”

Kurenai grimaces, leading them all the way to the top landing. Kakashi's heart feels heavier with every step, because when Itachi said _right in front of my cousin’s apartment_ , he’d assumed the man meant outside his _building_. But this—

The hallway looks like a warzone, bullet holes riddling the walls and marching towards the window in a scatter of shots. Obito's beloved reusable grocery bags are abandoned next to the apartment door, crushed egg and juice forming a puddle beneath one. Kakashi stares at the hole in it for a long moment, heart high up in his throat and beating far too fast. A set of keys lies right in front of the open door, and Kakashi takes a few careful steps into the apartment. It’s clear of damage, but the security system is deactivated.

“He set that when we left this morning,” Kakashi manages, nodding to it. Kurenai leans in, peering at the setup with a frown, and waves one of the techs forward.

“Good quality,” she says, more assessing than admiring.

Kakashi nods; he’d said much the same thing when he first saw it. “One of his friends is a security consultant. He helped Obito install it. It was supposed to be pretty much impossible to get around.”

“But someone clearly did,” Kurenai murmurs thoughtfully, then steps back. “Over here.”

Kakashi follows her, Itachi a dark shadow at his shoulder, eyes tracing the marks in the hall. “They were shooting from the landing below,” the Uchiha says after a moment, eyeing the angle of the last few rounds. “And—” He stops abruptly, and Kakashi, following his gaze, doesn’t have to ask why.

Blood. Just a small splatter against the plain eggshell-white of the hall, but still devastating to see.

Kurenai nods. “There's more on the window,” she tells them quietly, and even though it’s the last thing he wants to do, Kakashi steps over to check.

“Glass is outside, not inside. He went out here,” he observes, eyeing the fire escape that’s the only way down from here. Offset, so that Obito would have had to jump to catch hold of even the outside of it, but…doable. For someone uninjured, at least, but Obito _was_ injured. Kakashi hasn’t seen much athleticism from his boyfriend that doesn’t take place in the bedroom, but Obito jogs religiously and has the kind of muscle that can only be earned. It’s possible he made the jump, but…

But there's been no word from him. Even if Obito's phone was damaged, surely he could have borrowed a stranger’s. Surely, as the nephew of the Chief of Police and grandnephew of the Police Commissioner, Obito knows to report something like this. Unless—

“They must have taken him,” Itachi says, and if Kakashi wasn’t looking at him he might write that tone off as disinterested, cold. However, he’s seen the way Itachi and Sasuke both adore their older cousin, the way they gravitate towards him for praise and friendship and Obito's clear, unwavering fondness. He can see, too, the faint tightness of deeply-buried terror in Itachi's expression, the grim determination to see Obito back at any cost that matches what's bubbling in Kakashi's own chest right now.

“Why?” Kurenai asks, clearly puzzled. “I'm aware of his connections, but if they were looking for a ransom, your little brother is still in school, and far more vulnerable. Obito is a grown man, with a history of winning MMA tournaments and a well-protected home. It just…doesn’t make sense.”

Itachi drifts up to stand next to Kakashi, but his eyes are fixed out over the rooftops, rather than on the route Obito must have used to get down. “Perhaps,” he says, more to himself than anything, “they weren’t after him for his family connections.”

As if in response to that statement, the sound of a commotion rises below them, followed by the tramp of multiple feet coming up the stairs. Kakashi turns, wary but intent, just in time to see a woman in a dark blue windbreaker step onto the landing. She’s small but fierce-looking, brown hair falling in a bob around her face, and when her grey-brown eyes land on the three detectives there's fire in her gaze. She strides up to them, sensible shoes clicking sharply on the floorboards, and tugs something out from under her jacket. It’s a badge, and Kakashi feels himself freeze in the face of it.

“Rin Nohara, FBI,” she says briskly. “My team will be taking over this crime scene. If you could call your men back, Detective Yuuhi, I’d appreciate it.”

“FBI?” Kurenai repeats, an edge of offense creeping into her generally even tone. “I'm sorry, ma’am, but why the hell is the FBI interested in—”

Nohara’s smile is impossibly sweet, with an undertone of cheerful malice. “In Obito Uchiha? Oh, it wasn’t on your records? He’s one of ours.”

 

 

Broad Street is just as busy as Obito expected, packed with businessmen and –women all rushing to make it to work. There are a handful of people who look closer to service-industry, though, and Obito blends in fairly well with them as he strides along, head down and trying not to shiver from the icy bite of the wind.

It only takes a moment of looking to find a businessman walking particularly fast, his phone in the outside pocket of his bag, and Obito palms the device as he brushes past the man. It’s been a long time since he felt anything like guilt, and it doesn’t even cross his mind right now—everything in him is focused on getting away unseen, making contact with his team, and then finding a safe place to lie low.

Opening the phone, he hits the emergency call button and punches in a number from memory, then takes a sharp left off the main street and towards the neighborhood where their underground doctor has set up shop. It gets grimier and dimmer with every block he passes, which is a good sign that he’s going in the right direction.

Two rings, and the other end picks up. “Hello?” Rin says, polite but wary, because she’s the type to answer any call even when she doesn’t know the number.

“Rin!” Obito says brightly. “Beautiful, lovely, deadly light of my life! How are you?”

“Tobi,” she says blandly, and he can practically hear the way her eyes narrow. “That’s not your phone you're using, is it?”

Of _course_ that would be what she’d focus on. Obito rolls his eye, checking behind himself as he crosses the empty street and slips into the shadows between two ramshackle buildings. There's no movement, but despite his assurances to his team, Obito is fairly certain that he was followed—either that or they managed to pick of his trail again. That would mean they’ve got someone decent at hacking into surveillance cameras, and that’s…not comforting.

“It’s a new model,” Obito answers, slightly testy. “I’ll drop it somewhere and the guy can just use GPS to find it again. Rin, you know I wouldn’t—”

“You _would_ ,” Rin counters flatly. “Tobi, we’ve _talked_ about that sticky-fingers habit of yours, and—”

“ _Not_ the point!” Obito hisses. “Can we talk about this sometime when I'm not bleeding out?”

Instantly, her tone shifts from aggravation to worry. “ _Bleeding_? Tobi, if you need a retrieval, I can have a team there in twenty minutes. Tell me where you are.”

But there's a shift behind him in the shadows, a flicker of movement that’s out of place. Obito doesn’t turn, but he tips his head a little, catching sight of a man in dark clothes out of the corner of his good eye. “Sorry, Rin,” he says simply. “I don’t have twenty minutes. Someone’s found me. I let the team know and they're going to ground. Sasori and Deidara are looking into it, but they can't check the official channels. I need you to find out who would have put a kill order on me— _just_ me.”

From the soft intake of breath, she understands the implications as well as he does. “They know?” she demands, hushed but sharp. “But we’ve managed to keep that a secret—”

“We’ve managed to keep it _quiet_ ,” Obito corrects, ducking around a corner and pressing back into the shadow of a van. He waits until he can hear footsteps hurry past him, then fade, before he doubles back and heads east. “There's no such thing as a secret when more than two people know, Rin. This is just—information that isn’t widespread.”

The roll of her eyes is practically audible. “Well, I'm fairly certain the CIA isn’t compromised,” she says. “Especially given that only the Director and I know who _actually_ led Akatsuki, and neither of us has been talking. I don’t think it’s even written down anywhere, so whoever found out, they didn’t do it from us.” There's a rustle, and then muffled voices as Rin pulls the phone from her ear. Obito just manages to catch the words “shooter” and “neighborhood”, but it’s enough to realize that she’s at his apartment, likely butting heads with the police. If Rin has one fault, it’s that she’s used to being in charge, and likes it to stay that way.

“Still playing at being an FBI agent?” he asks dryly, slipping through an alley and then across an empty lot. He pauses at the edge of it, listening, but can't hear any signs of pursuit.

Rin sniffs. “I’ll have you know I'm gainfully employed by them,” she huffs. “Just…my loyalties are slightly divided. My bosses already know, anyway.”

“Mm. They just couldn’t pass up the chance to get their hands on the director of the best anti-arms trafficking team in decades?” Obito teases. He pauses to get his bearings, then heads for the crooked shadow of an old office building. There's a service door around the side that’s ever so slightly ajar, and Obito pushes it open and slips inside. The hinges move easily, silently, which is enough of a sign that he’s in the right place.

“Something like that,” Rin agrees, then pauses and adds lightly, “So. When were you going to tell me about tall, pale, and ferocious over here? I’ll admit, I kind of thought he was going to go for my throat with his _teeth_ when I tried to kick him out of the building.”

Obito's breath catches in his chest, because there's only one person who fits that description. “Kakashi,” he says, and it’s rough, scraping his throat on its way out. A jolt, and then the panic sets in, burying even the growing fire of his wounded shoulder. “Rin, keep him with you. They were watching me, so they have to know about him. Whatever you do, don’t let him out of your sight. Please.”

Rin sighs. “I think it’s more a matter of whether he’ll let _me_ out of _his_ sight,” she offers wryly, but before Obito can answer she continues more seriously, “Don’t worry, Tobi, he’s not going anywhere. I’ll call Madara and get him assigned to the case as an advisor. As long as you're aware that I'm not going to be able to keep much from him when he’s so close to things.”

Obito bites his lip, worrying at the skin for a minute, and then sighs. “That’s all right,” he says tiredly, rubbing a hand over the scarred side of his face. “I kind of gave up on keeping his a secret as soon as the first shot was fired. Just—don’t let him do anything stupid, please?”

“Take your own advice,” Rin counters, clearly exasperated. “Obi—Tobi, Akatsuki isn’t a suicide squad anymore. You can ask for backup.”

That makes Obito laugh, soft but rough, and he shakes his head. “Technically, you're right,” he murmurs, and knows it’s cynical. “But…”

“You’d rather trust your team than mine.” Rin’s voice is tired.

“We _are_ your team, Rin,” Obito reminds her. “You're the one who got us home alive, and none of us will forget that. You gave us a way to atone before we even realized we needed it. Don’t worry; we’re not going to disappear. But this is a threat, and we’re going to handle it our way.”

There's a sigh, a rustle like Rin just dragged a hand through her hair. “Fine. But when this is over, I'm dragging the lot of you on the most unpleasant mission imaginable to pay you back for all the stress,” she warns him. “I’ll start looking. Keep your head down and your eyes peeled, Tobi. We all made it back from the three separate warzones in one piece; I'm not about to lose you guys now.”

Obito huffs, smiles, and hangs up without bothering to say goodbye. Rin understands, and that’s enough.

Down one empty, dusty hall, a light glows, illuminating a single door. Obito checks behind himself once more, then makes for it, trying not to let his footsteps echo too loudly on the cement floor. There's no sign of anyone else around, though, so he lifts a fist and knocks three times.

There's a long pause, long enough for Obito to finally acknowledge the way his head is swimming slightly and his left arm doesn’t want to move at all, and then the door creaks open softly. The spill of fluorescent light frames a tall, broad man with wild white hair, dark eyes regarding Obito carefully.

“You look like you're having a shit day, kid,” the man says brightly.

“Jiraiya,” Obito answers, dry as dust. “Want to get out of the way? I might faint on you.”

The man’s grin widens. “Damsel moments? That’s what happens when you find yourself a knight in police-force armor, kid—all that independence, all that baddassery, _poof_. Gone. What you need is a nice hot—”

“Stop harassing my patient, Jiraiya,” Orochimaru cuts in coolly, ghosting up behind his partner with a look that lands somewhere between fond and homicidal. Obito has never _, ever_ managed to understand the relationship between them, and really doesn’t want to, either. “Tobi, Priest informed me of the situation. Come, the examining room is ready.”

Giving Jiraiya one last, narrow look, Obito follows the underground doctor deeper into the clinic. The man’s assistant is seated at a small desk, reading a book, but when he catches sight of them he pushes to his feet immediately. Orochimaru just waves him off.

“I’ll be fine, Kabuto. See to it that the Five set up a perimeter; Tobi is currently desired goods, from what I understand.”

“Yes, sir,” the younger man murmurs, then hurries out the door. A moment later, Obito hears the sound of more voices in the hall, and then quick footsteps. He lets himself relax a little, because Orochimaru’s guards, a small gang of some of the most vicious fighters he’s ever met, won't let anyone get past them.

“No anesthetic,” he tells Orochimaru, taking a seat on the metal table in the exam room. “I'm going to need to keep thinking on my feet, and you know I have zero tolerance for those.”

“It’d be funny, at least,” Jiraiya chimes in, leaning in the doorway and watching Orochimaru prep his tools with a small smirk. “Last time I saw you doped up—”

“Is something you're never going to talk about on pain of castration,” Obito manages through gritted teeth. Orochimaru casts him a veiled look and he nods, setting his jaw and trying to relax his muscles. Tensing will just make the pain worse. A moment later, deft hands are undoing the blood-soaked scarf, pulling it away and then slicing through the already shredded shoulder of his shirt. Obito clamps down on the whine that wants to escape, and carefully doesn’t look as the doctor starts to clean fibers out of the graze. Unfortunately, the only thing that leaves him to look at is Jiraiya, who appears far too amused for Obito's peace of mind.

“Got a message from that Puppeteer of yours,” he says idly, watching Obito's face with a lazy sort of curiosity. “Wanted to know about any hits that’ve been put out recently. That what happened to you?”

Obito nods, trying to keep breathing shallowly through the pain as Orochimaru picks up a wicked-looking curved needle. The pinch of it sliding into his flesh is fine, but the sharp tug of the thread pulling his skin back together is pure agony. He gasps before he can stop it, then clamps down on his reaction, forces himself not to twitch away, and keeps his gaze on the white-haired man. “Yeah. Still got your fingers in all of the underworld’s pies?”

Jiraiya laughs, smug and satisfied. “You know I do. Being a writer’s great, but I've got to keep my hand in it somehow, right? I’ll lose my edge if I don’t.”

He drives Sasori up the wall, given how many connections he has. Obito's intelligence expert is always trying to poach them, but there's something about Jiraiya that just inspires loyalty. Even Konan and Nagato, both of whom he trained, still have it, if to a lesser degree.

Another sharp tug, another stitch laid, and Orochimaru says blandly, “I'll put a binding agent over these, if you're going to be jumping around. If you rip them out, I'm charging you double to redo them.”

That, at least, is familiar enough to make Obito roll his eye. “Of course. Believe me, I’d lay low if I could, but I still don’t know who tried to kill me. That tends to make me cranky. I want this asshole, and I want to know how he found out what he did.”

Jiraiya gives him a sharp look, but doesn’t ask. Instead, he knocks his knuckles against the doorframe and straightens up. “I’ll ask around, too,” he says lazily. “See if I can't one-up that little spitfire you’re working with.”

“Which one?” Obito asks dryly, thinking of his two main intelligence experts. “Sasori will probably ignore you, but if you mean Deidara, I’d watch out for explosives. There's an impressive temper of that one.”

As expected, Jiraiya just waves that off. “Thanks for the warning, but I'm not _that_ old,” he huffs, and slips out of sight.

Orochimaru makes a soft sound that could be either a snort or a laugh, tying off the last stitch and then cover the graze with something that looks like glue. “Give that five minutes to dry,” he instructs, rising bonelessly from his chair. “I’ll find you a shirt and a jacket. I assume you know my rates?”

Obito nods, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll transfer it directly,” he agrees. “Thanks, Doctor.”

Orochimaru inclines his head, gracefully arrogant, and sweeps out of the room. Obito watches him go, then shakes his head with a soft snort. If he didn’t know better, he’d peg Orochimaru as some high-class plastic surgeon, not a back-alley doctor with a distinct fondness for gang members and a sliding scale for payment so that even the most unfortunate can get help at his clinic. Admittedly, a good portion of it is Jiraiya's influence, and his fellow doctor Tsunade's. Kakuzu still waxes lyrical about the time when Orochimaru was a complete self-serving bastard without morals—something about “the decay of villainy in the world in general and this city in particular”, though Obito generally tunes him out after the first minute.

Those rants are especially ironic given Akatsuki’s current employment.

His phone chimes with a cheerful alert as it powers on, and Obito winces to see that he has fifteen missed calls—two from Fugaku, three from Madara, four from Itachi, another four from Sasuke and the remainder from Kakashi and Rin—five voicemails, and a bevy of text messages. He checks the latter first, ignoring the ones from Sasuke to focus on those from his team.

Deidara’s is the oldest, a quick summary of the inventory they have stashed away—with a cheerful addition of _Lots of things that’ll go boom!_ —and then an ETA for meeting up with Sasori. After that is Kisame’s assurance that he’s moving, none the worse for the delay, and then an update from Sasori.

_Puppeteer found movement on the north side. Name Gato—no known connection to arms/weapons/terrorism/our pasts. Deals in drugs/prostitution/extortion, but small time. Any knowledge?_

Obito frown at the name. It’s completely unfamiliar, and since Obito tries to keep an eye on the underground for situations just like this, that means Gato must be small time indeed.

The next message has two pictures attached, both rough-looking men Obito has definitely never seen before. _Possible shooters?_ Deidara has added. _Seen at North Ave station this morning._

Kisame’s response is dated just seconds after that. _Shooters are_ _Zori, Waraji. DUMB muscle. If Gato’s best men, no threat. Can we kill him now?_

_Gardener has location. Defended but accessible. Will retrieve blueprints._

_Priest is prepared. Salt and burn?_

Obito rolls his eye again, then brings up the app. _Tobi says not yet. Maintain holding pattern until more info. Teams convene at bolt-hole. Priest, location?_

The response is immediate. _Point C prepared, secured. Entry code is b-day of Tobi’s boy-toy._

For a long moment, Obito stares at the message. Then he groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling entirely exasperated. _YOU ALL RAN BACKGROUND CHECKS??? I HATE YOU COLLECTIVELY._

A little bouncing heart emoji is Konan's only response, and seems to speak for all of them.

Giving up, Obito sighs and types out, _ETA?_

Pein answers first. _Angel, Pein 10 min, moving out._

_Zombie, Beast 7 min, en route._

_Puppeteer, Bomber packing up—20 min tops._

_Priest present._

_Gardener en route, 12 min with traffic._

Less than half an hour and the team will be back together. Obito smiles to himself a little, then adds his own estimation. _Tobi moving out, 15 min unless pursued. Will contact again at station, 8 min tops. All hands, eyes open._

That done, he quickly makes Orochimaru’s payment, turns his phone off again, and heads out the door. Kabuto is in the main room again, and lifts his head as Obito walks by.

“Avoid the east,” he warns, and waves Obito over to a small pile of clothes. “Four teams of two, all armed, sweeping the streets towards Tanzaku Boulevard. Kimimaro is watching, but be careful. He can't be everywhere.”

Obito nods his thanks for the warning, dresses, then slips out into the hall and quickly makes his way out of the abandoned building. There's an itch at the back of his neck again, like hostile eyes, and it’s making him twitchy. Casting one last look around, he makes for the street, using the stolen phone to text Rin the names they’ve uncovered and then leaving it on a low wall.

It’s not safe to use the Broad Street subway station again, so he turns south, making for the next closest one. He’ll have to do some creative train-switching, but it should get him to the bolt-hole with a few minutes to spare.

A teenage girl with long pink hair held back by a beanie is lounging on top of a wall at the very edge of the Five’s territory. She nods as Obito passes, calling, “Step careful, old man.”

“Watch your mouth or someone might cut your tongue out, brat,” Obito retorts, because he likes Tayuya. She gives him a smirk that shows teeth, then vaults off the wall and vanishes into the maze of streets. Obito doesn’t linger to watch her go, but pulls his own vanishing act, ducking around a dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant and cutting through the ally to emerge on a slightly busier street lined with shops. A glance around, and—

The loud, sharp _pop_ of a gun, followed an instant later by the crack of a bullet hitting glass. Obito bolts, ignoring the screams that rise around him, the mad rush to clear the street, the ear-splitting impact of bullets peppering the storefront behind him. Another gun’s report makes him zig-zag, leaping for the cover of a parked car as he tries to figure out which direction will be safe. There's no time, though, and even as Obito's heartrate picks up a man in dark clothes lunges around the car and right at him.

With a snarl, Obito meets his charge, dropping low, planting his good shoulder in the bigger man’s gut, and heaving him up and over. It hurts, burns like straining stitches, but Obito ignores the pain and throws himself into a sprint. The station is up ahead, entrance gaping in the ground, but he has at least a block to go before he can reach it and there's another pair of men looming in his path, the threat of those guns still behind him. Obito slides between the two, turning to give a sharp kick to the left-hand one’s kidneys even as he tries to follow. The other is faster, already lunging for him, but Obito ducks out of the way, sidesteps a punch, and kicks him as hard as he can in the nuts. The man goes down with a whimper, but in the same moment a gun barks again.

But this time, it seems like whoever’s shooting is actually aiming.


	3. disappointment haunted all my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my brother just shattered any delusions of free time I might have had, I'm saying screw it and posting the rest. Sorry for spamming you!
> 
> We’re ignoring medical inaccuracies and just assuming Naruto canon levels of pain tolerance, yes? Good, because otherwise my lovely wife (a nurse) will turn this fic into a drinking game and I don’t want to lose her to liver failure.

It feels like a punch in the side, dull impact that starts to radiate agony like poison. Obito presses his hand to his side, brain dazed as it tries to keep up with the signals his body is sending, and his fingers touch wetness. The agony redoubles, stealing his breath, making every muscle seize up all at once, and he staggers as his knees go weak.

Obito has been shot before—has suffered gut-shots before. This one isn’t quite as bad as it could be, but…it’s still bad, especially for his chances.

There's cursing behind him, sharp and angry voices, and Obito knows that there's little hope of getting away. He tries anyway, throwing himself through the door of the antiques shop behind him with all the coordination he can muster. More cursing, but Obito doesn’t stick around to improve his vocabulary; he dives past the gaping shopkeeper and into the overcrowded shelves, staggering around a display of ugly vintage lamps. A trail of blood gives him away, and Obito is just aware enough to notice it, but there isn’t anything he can do about it at the moment. Just staying upright is getting progressively harder, and he swears under his breath as he bumps into an ornate wooden carousel horse.

One more quick check behind him, but no one is in sight and Obito takes it as a good sign. There's a door in front of him marked “Employees Only”, and whether or not it has an exit it’s Obito's best bet at the moment. He takes two stumbling steps toward it, rounding another shelf, and has half a second to register the incredibly hideous porcelain vase swinging at his skull before it impacts in a surge of blinding, splintering agony.

A breath later and darkness is all he knows.

 

 

“They were terrorists,” Rin says calmly, passing Kakashi a Styrofoam cup of coffee as she adds sugar to her own.

Kakashi looks up from his study of the oily black liquid, caught in the memory of what Obito said last time he caught Kakashi drinking out of Styrofoam. It was an impressive lecture, left Obito flushed and furious, and Kakashi had stared at him, wondering how someone could be so _cute_ talking about the eventual destruction of Earth via to-go cups.

But Obito is gone, still missing, and this woman’s words aren’t making any sense.

“Pardon?” he asks blandly, to give himself time to process.

Rin smiles like she knows what he’s doing, taking a seat on the couch beside him. They’ve relocated to a hotel several blocks away, and judging by the state of the room, several or all of the FBI team have been staying here for a while already.

“Terrorists,” she says again, as though repetition is all that’s needed to clarify the statement. “Domestic, mostly, although Zetsu and Kisame both have ties to foreign powers. Akatsuki, they were called. Responsible for several devastating attacks against military bases, government buildings, and key military-contracted factories. They wanted to bring peace, but…they really weren’t going about it the right way. The CIA managed to track them down and capture them, and then offered them a deal. Use their contacts in foreign countries to help clean up arms-trafficking rings and locate missing weapons shipments, and they’d come back free men. Akatsuki took the deal, and I was put in charge of them.”

 _Obito_? Kakashi wants to protest, but…he’s known Obito for several months now. Long enough to see that under the eco-warrior front there's a core of truly frightening anger and an entirely ruthless drive. It…doesn’t explain everything, but maybe it makes it a little more plausible.

“CIA?” he asks instead. “I thought you said you were FBI.”

Rin smiles at him, sweet and a little mischievous. “It’s like a time-share,” she says with a vague shrug. “I didn’t want to abandon my team when we got back, but the CIA is discouraged from acting domestically, so I was allowed to transfer the whole team between agencies with the stipulation that all of us could be called up as necessary.”

“That trip two months ago—Obito said he was meeting friends from school,” Kakashi realizes, and…he’s not quite sure how he should feel. Things are falling into place now—Obito's unwillingness to talk about his past after college and before moving back to Konoha, his awkward semi-estrangement from the older members of his family, the faint edge of paranoia that Kakashi wrote off as a byproduct of being raised by a police family. And that one picture on the wall in his bedroom, taken somewhere hot and sandy, with nine people seated on rocks or lounging on the sand, battered and dirty but nearly all of them grinning. Kakashi's never noticed any weapons in the picture, but…he wonders now, what he would find if he looked a little more closely.

With a nod, Rin looks down, curling her hands around her cup. “We had a mission,” she confirms. “Nothing big—a small-time cult who’d been buying up illegal arms. Akatsuki went undercover as prospective sellers, got the info, and delivered it to the FBI. They're brilliant at it.”

 _We’re_ brilliant at it, she doesn’t say, but Kakashi can see the fondness in her eyes, the loyalty as fierce as fire. He’s willing to bet that against an enemy that threatens what’s hers, Rin Nohara is just as dangerous as the Akatsuki members.

“Don’t blame Obito,” Rin says softly, laying a hand on Kakashi's arm. He meets worried grey-brown eyes steadily, and she gives him a tentative smile. “He’s not supposed to tell anyone about his past, and I know he doesn’t like talking about it in general. I'm sure, if he’d been able to, he would have let you know.”

With most people, Kakashi would be doubtful. He’d assume Obito had kept it from him for fear of Kakashi hating him once he learned. But if Kakashi knows anything, it’s that Obito isn’t like that. He’s straightforward to a fault, so bluntly honest that it’s sometimes painful, and never spares himself just because it would be easier. If he hasn’t told Kakashi all of this, there's a good reason.

Giving Rin a lazy smile in return, Kakashi sips his coffee. “Maa,” he says with a faint shrug. “I liked him when I thought he was an unemployed English major living on his family’s money. Former terrorist could be seen as an improvement, right?”

Rin still looks a little doubtful, but before she can respond, her phone chimes. She glances at it with a frown, and then her eyes widen and she rises quickly to her feet, striding across the room to loom over the main tech.

Being who he is, Kakashi eavesdrops shamelessly.

“—named Gato?” she’s asking. “All Tobi give me is that and a possible ID on the shooters. Zori and Waraji, guns for hire, so can we—”

Very, very casually, Kakashi finds his own phone, stands up, and meanders over towards the window, which is clear of agents. Iruka's number is second on his speed-dial, and he hits the button and waits for it to ring.

“Kakashi?” Iruka asks, sounding vaguely annoyed and slightly surprised. “I thought the Chief said you were liaising with an FBI team. What’s going on?”

“Remember those very badly done threatening letters we got last week?” he says, leaning against the cold glass and cursing himself for not figuring it out sooner. “Any chance we got another today?”

There's a long pause, and then Iruka answers carefully, “Yes. I sent it down to the lab for testing, but…it looks like something a child would do. It’s serious?”

“Mm,” Kakashi hums thoughtfully. “Remind me how long we have until Gato’s case goes to trial?”

There's definitely a note of mild alarm in Iruka's voice now, even as he huffs, “You’d know if you _actually did your paperwork_ , Kakashi. A month, possibly less—it depends on how fast the city gets through with that Gold and Silver Brothers case.”

The armored car thieves Itachi caught, Kakashi remembers vaguely, but it’s not important right now. His hand closes a little more tightly around his mobile, and he takes a careful breath. “What did the note say this time?”

“That he was going to rip away what was most important to you if you didn’t get rid of the case,” Iruka whispers. “Kakashi—”

“Let me know what the lab finds,” Kakashi interrupts, and then hangs up before Iruka can ask anything. He isn’t in any fit frame of mind to answer right now.

This has nothing to do with Obito. This has nothing at all to do with terrorists or shady pasts or police families. This is on Kakashi's head, and he knows just how to make it right.

When Nagato was last over to check the security system, he and Kakashi had gotten to talking, and he’d left Kakashi his card. Because Kakashi is terrible about ever cleaning his wallet out, he still has it, a small, flimsy rectangle of plain white paper with the name _New Dawn Security Consultations_ emblazoned on the top. There's a business number beneath it, then a personal line, and Kakashi punches the latter into his phone without hesitation and hits send.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

“Hello?” It’s a woman’s voice, unfamiliar but brisk, slightly distracted. “I'm sorry, but if you're calling for New Dawn—”

“I'm actually trying to reach Akatsuki,” Kakashi cuts in, light and carefully careless. “I know why someone was after Obito.”

There's a long moment of silence, and then noise rushes in, staticky and vague. “You're on speaker,” the woman informs him. “Kakashi Hatake, I take it? What have you found?”

“A man named Gato. My partner and I have been building a case against him, keeping it as quiet as possible because we suspect someone in the department is on his payroll. As soon as we let the chief know we had enough to bring him to court, we started getting threatening letters. We suspected they were Gato’s work, but weren’t sure. And then today, he sent me one saying he’d take away something important to me.”

Another long pause, and Nagato’s familiar voice says quietly, “Thank you, Detective. We had uncovered the Gato connection, but not his motives. Is the FBI—”

“It’s going to take them several hours at least to even start moving,” a flat voice interrupts. “Obito left the Snake’s clinic ten minutes ago, and the station is four minutes’ walk at most. Even allowing extra time to shake a tail, he should have contacted us already.”

“Danna’s right,” someone else agrees, and the tone is light enough that Kakashi can't tell if it’s a man or a woman. “I don’t think it counts as jumping to conclusions right now if we assume they grabbed him, un.”

There's a low, rough chuckle. “Hear that, Hidan? Looks like you get that salt and burn you wanted anyway.”

“I'm coming,” Kakashi says, and silence falls on the other end. His fingers tighten around the phone, his heart beating a shuddering tattoo in his chest. He thinks of Obito's smile, crooked and warm, thinks of blood on the walls and a broken window. “Give me a place to meet you, but either I come with you now or I go alone, and possibly screw up your operation. Your choice.”

The woman chuckles softly. “You're all right, Detective,” she murmurs. “Fine. Meet us at the street corner east of the hotel in ten minutes. We’ll pick you up.”

No one protests, and Kakashi closes his phone feeling like he’s just won a victory.

 

 

Obito comes awake to fierce pain in his abdomen that throbs in time with his heartbeat, that particular hollow ringing in his skull that means he has a concussion, and the pulsing of a twisted ankle that is a new and entirely unexpected hurt. Awesome.

Beyond that, awareness of his surroundings filters back in bits and pieces. He’s slumped on a metal folding chair, hands tied behind him with rope and shirt missing, in a tiny, dusty room that smells of mildew. Someone’s done the bare minimum to ensure he won't bleed to death, so that’s at least one less thing to worry about. There are no windows, no ceiling lights. The only illumination comes from a bank of computer terminals set against the wall furthest from him and a lamp on the desk beside them. _Closet_ , _I'm in a closet again_ , Obito thinks, and finds it far funnier than he should. Definitely concussion, then.

“Awake?” a rough voice says, and Obito glances up to find a dark-haired man leaning in the shadows next to the computers. His face is unexpectedly familiar, and Obito can't decide whether that’s good news or bad.

“Yeah,” he sighs, shifting a little on the chair. His gunshot wound takes it badly, lancing pain up through his torso, and Obito has to hold very, very still for a moment while he remembers how to breathe. Once he can, he tries to start over. “Zabuza Momochi. You're an unexpected sight. I guess Gato’s finally getting out of the minor leagues.”

Zabuza snorts out a mocking laugh. “Not likely. The little slug’s desperate to keep his case from going to court, so he thought he’d blackmail the lead detective. How’s it feel to be reduced to damsel status, Tobi?”

Well. Obito supposes that makes more sense than someone as two-bit as Gato finding out he’s actually the leader of the Akatsuki. Carefully twisting his wrists, he feels out the knots holding him, though he keeps his eyes on Zabuza. “Well, it’s only noon and I've already been shot twice and had a flower vase broken over my head. I’d hate to see what the rest of the day has in store for me. Any chance of you playing dashing prince, Zabuza? I like to keep my options open.”

That makes Zabuza laugh, loud and rough. “Damn, Tobi, we’ve known each other for years and you still haven’t realized? I'm the monster guarding the princess. Try again. And stop picking at the ropes. Those are my knots—you're not getting out of them.”

It was worth a shot. Obito rolls his eye, then glances at the computers. Security feeds, it looks like, showing the interior of a fairly small building. Obito manages to count three stairwells, a handful of furnished rooms, and a small army of guards before the nausea takes over and makes him close his eyes.

“How’s that kid you picked up?” he asks to distract himself, fingers still working busily—if more subtly—on his bonds. “Uh…Shiro?”

“Haku,” Zabuza corrects, and smiles a little. “Kid’s a spitfire, even if he hides it well. Good with computers—the one who cracked your security system, actually. He’s handy, so I’ll keep him around for a while. How about that cousin of yours? As much of a handful as you remembered?”

From Zabuza, that’s practically a confession of love to his ward. Obito gives the man an arch look, but answers, “Yeah, Sasuke’s a brat. Good kid, but he kind of thinks the world revolves around him right now. I have to keep reminding myself I love him so that I won't drag him to the park and drown him.”

“Teenagers,” Zabuza agrees, longsuffering, and turns away to check the monitors. Obito gives one last hard tug to the ropes and feels them go slack. He smirks, twists his fingers in the loops, and pulls them tight so that at first glance it will look like the bonds are intact. There's no plan, and Obito knows that even if he gets past Zabuza he’ll never even make it to the front door, but it’s a start. Obito has never taken well to being tied up, anyways.

“Been keeping busy?” he wants to know, casting his gaze around the room as much as he can. It’s hard to focus, even harder to think the way he needs to, but Obito's been in worse situations and gotten out of them. Besides, his team’s coming. He knows that without a moment’s hesitation or doubt.

Zabuza casts him a speaking glance that says he knows quite well what Obito is doing, but answers nevertheless. “Yeah, more or less. I don’t expect the Gato thing to last long, but it’s been decent for making connections. Got a foothold on this coast now, and it should bring in some more business. I hear you've gone off the radar, though. Given up on destroying the military?”

Ah, the million-dollar question. Obito shrugs as much as he’s able, but movement on one of the screens catches his eye. A dark blue van with gold lettering on the side, and surely there's only one company in the city that uses those particular colors. “Well,” he answers lightly, “we were getting more attention than we needed, so we’ve been shifting our movements overseas a bit. You know how it goes.”

“Fucking feds,” Zabuza agrees with a huff, and Obito has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the thought of what Rin would do to him if she heard. She’s got a bit of a temper, and it’s _glorious_.

On-screen, the van’s doors are sliding open. Taking that as his cue, Obito moans a little, coughs, and rasps, “Any way the monster could get me some painkillers? I’d kill for a handful of ibuprofen right about now.”

Zabuza turns, frowning faintly. “Sorry,” he apologizes, stepping across the room to lean down and inspect Obito's bandages. “I told Gato you’d need more medical attention than Haku and I could give you. If he’s still got a stick up his ass in a few hours, I’ll get you a bed. Least I can do, after Turkmenistan.”

“No worries,” Obito breathes, and then in a surge of motion he bolts to his feet, grabs the metal chair, and whips it around and down onto Zabuza’s skull with a deafening crash. The big man goes down with a cry, and doesn’t get back up.

It takes all of Obito's willpower not to follow him. The world is spinning, nausea is rising in his throat, and his entire left side feels like it’s on fire, the pain of it making him even more light-headed. Still, he reminds himself that his team is moving, grits his teeth, and carefully crouches down to hogtie Zabuza. “No hard feelings, yeah?” he whispers, even though he knows it’s pointless. Zabuza plays the same game he does, and this is just business. Neither of them is going to hold a grudge.

(Still, it’s possible he mutters, “Who’s the princess now, bastard?” as he riffles through the man’s pockets.)

Zabuza’s carrying a cell phone and a gun, and Obito wastes no time grabbing both up, tucking the latter into the waistband of his jeans and punching a number into the former.

“Hello?” a blessedly familiar voice asks.

“Smile! You're on camera,” Obito says as cheerfully as he’s able with his head still spinning. “Where the hell’s Puppeteer when you need him, right?”

“Tobi,” Nagato breathes, and the relief in his voice makes Obito smile a little. Beside him on the screen, the long-haired blond jerks, turns, and flails, and Obito laughs. It hurts, but it’s worth it.

“Hello to Bomber, too,” he adds dryly. “Got a pronoun for me today?”

Nagato shakes his head, orders, “Don’t hang up,” and passes the phone over, murmuring something Obito can't hear.

“Tobi!” Deidara cries cheerfully, though Obito can see how cautious eyes scan the street, making sure no one is listening in. “Let’s go with he, un. You got loose?”

“They had me tied up in the security booth,” Obito snorts. “Gato’s a moron, as far as I can tell. I took care of my guard, but I don’t think I’ll even make it out the door right now. You might have to come and get me.”

Deidara’s expression turns alarmed. Nagato sees it and snatches the phone back, then snaps, “Tobi, status?”

“GSW,” Obito acknowledges. “Lower abdomen, left side, bleeding’s pretty much stopped. I think it missed anything vital. Moderate to serious concussion, minor twisted ankle. I've had worse.”

Nagato makes a doubtful noise. “At least we are not fifty kilometers from base with a desert in between,” he mutters, sounding like he’s trying to reassure himself. “Puppeteer and Zombie are around back, cutting the power. I’ll let Priest know to contact Snake. Rin will object, but I would rather remain underground given this is not an FBI operation.”

“Well, technically—”

“If you are done wasting time, tell me the layout.”

Obito rolls his eye. “Killjoy,” he grouses, but settles himself carefully in the computer chair and checks the screens. “Four floors, elevators are guarded, stairwell isn’t. Doors are probably locked, though. Fire escape looks clear, but windows are monitored—older security system, though, so Puppeteer should have no problem with it. Gato’s on the third floor, three doors down from the stairwell on the left, with three—no, five guards. I'm counting at least four on each floor in between.”

Nagato’s grunt of acknowledgement is entirely unimpressed. “And your floor?”

A quick glance around reveals absolutely nothing to indicate which, so Obito mutters, “Hold that thought,” and pushes himself to his feet. The motion makes him strangle a cry behind his teeth, but he makes it to the door with slow, shuffling steps and opens it, carefully leaning out. The room outside is dark and also smells of mildew, and Obito wrinkles his nose, studying the small, high-set windows that only just allow murky light to filter in. With a huff, he closes the door, locks it, and shuffles back to the computer.

“Basement,” he manages, feeling too close to breathless for comfort. “What idiot puts his tech in the basement?”

“That idiot managed to capture you,” Deidara points out cheerfully. “Danna’s going to laugh at you, un.”

Obito waves that off with no small measure of irritation. “Extenuating circumstances, He hired Momochi.”

“ _Zabuza_ Momochi?” Nagato demands. “If he’s there—”

“Relax, Pein, I told you I took care of my guard. He’s sleeping like a baby.”

“You mean he’ll wake up and cry?” Nagato’s voice is dust-dry and amused.

Obito snorts, wanting to laugh but knowing it will hurt like hell. “Yeah, exactly. You guys planning on making your move any time soon? I'm getting grey hairs waiting for you.”

There's a pause. Nagato pulls the phone away from his ear, leans back into the van, and murmurs something Obito can't make out. And then—

“No,” Obito growls. “No, no, no, no. Nagato, you stupid romantic bastard, I am going to _skin you alive_.”

Kakashi, stepping out of the van wearing a bulletproof vest and a dark cap over his distinctive hair, gives the security camera a cheerful wave. Obito drops his head down to the desk and groans, only partly from the pain of the motion. He’s going to _kill_ Kakashi. This is _not_ the kind of thing that a _cop_ is supposed to get dragged into, and—

“I can hear you stressing,” Nagato says, blandly amused. “Stop. I'm ending the call now, and Puppeteer will cut the power in thirty seconds. Don’t leave the security booth. We will deal with Gato and then come find you.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer, but Obito swears fiercely at him anyway. What were they _thinking_ , letting Kakashi tag along? If it’s not an FBI operation, that means _Rin_ isn’t here, and what possessed them to leave _her_ but take _him_? As soon as Obito is even slightly more fit, he is going to take his entire stupid team to the mat and _thrash them_. He’ll even make it look like training, so they can keep a bit of their pride.

Without fanfare, the lamp and the computers wink out, and the room is plunged into complete darkness. Obito sighs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, trying to ease even a little of the tension that’s pounding at his skull, and thinks vaguely of what excuse he’s going to give Rin for this disaster. She’ll _eviscerate_ him. If they're all exceedingly lucky, she might only assign them recon missions in Antarctica for the rest of forever, but Obito knows Rin. She can be _creative_. And she’ll likely blame the entire situation on him, given that he’s the one who got captured.

Carefully leaning back, he closes his eye and tries to think. If Nagato and Deidara are out front, and Sasori and Kakuzu are around back, that means Hidan, Zetsu, Kisame, and Konan will probably be coming in via the roof. Those four make a devastating strike team, and Gato deserves every second of it, Obito thinks a touch gleefully. Given the number of guards, Obito predicts it will be at least a quarter of an hour before they manage to make it down to his position. It’s maddening, being so close to the action but unable to do anything at all, and Obito knows the itch of inaction will only grow worse the longer he’s left in the dark, but just walking to the door and back nearly made him keel over. There's no way he can do anything, especially with all of the elevators locked down. Better to just—

A click, a rustle, a pause. Obito snaps his eye open, hand automatically reaching for the appropriated gun. He doesn’t get up, because standing right now will probably give him the shakes and throw his aim off even more than simple weakness, but he braces himself in preparation.

And then whoever’s on the other side knocks politely.

“Sweetheart? Dear? Honeybunch?” Kakashi—of _course_ it’s Kakashi—calls in a mockingly sweet voice. “How was your day at work, my little cabbage?”

Obito rolls his eye, tucks the gun away, and hauls himself painfully to his feet. The darkness is a little disorienting, but Obito remembers where Zabuza is sprawled well enough not to trip over him, and his groping hand finds the doorknob without difficulty. He throws the deadbolt back and pulls it open, and that first glimpse of Kakashi's pale face in the gloom might as well be accompanied by a choir of angels singing.

“Kakashi,” he breathes. “Well, it just got a hell of a lot better.”


	4. now i'm a believer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oh my god, someone take the coffee away from me. I'm so sorry.)

Kakashi smiles, eyes crinkling, and steps forward. Long, strong arms come up, wrapping around Obito's shoulders and carefully pulling him in. Obito goes without protest, burying his face in Kakashi's chest and taking a long, shuddering breath. He hurts, he hurts everywhere, but…this makes it okay. Not fine, maybe, but…better. And right now, better is the only thing Obito needs.

“You goddamn glorious bastard,” he mumbles into Kakashi's Kevlar vest. “Why the hell did you come? You could have been _killed_.”

“By Gato?” Kakashi sounds far too amused. “You have no faith in me, Obito. Besides, we had plans for dinner. I wasn’t going to let you wiggle out of them.”

“Caught,” Obito laments, though he doesn’t mean a word of it. “Fuck, I guess I'm going to have to suffer through _more_ of your company, you lazy bastard.”

Kakashi smiles into his hair and kisses his cheek, because he’s a complete _sap_. “I have a confession to make,” he murmurs against Obito's skin.

“Oh?” Obito asks curiously, tilting his head as those lips slide towards his throat.

“Mm,” Kakashi hums. “When you were gone today, I…”

Obito is impatient enough that in other circumstances he’d prod Kakashi to finish that sentence. Right now, however, he’s a little distracted by the hands sliding up his bare back, the kisses being pressed in a meandering line down to his collarbone. “You?”

“I…” Kakashi pauses, pulling back a little. He stares at Obito for a long moment, then leans forward and breathes against his ear, “I drank coffee out of a Styrofoam cup.”

“ _What_?” Obito squawks, torn between indignation and—no, wait, that’s indignation too. “ _Kakashi_! I _know_ I told you just how bad that shit is for you _and_ the environment! Fuck, are you trying to give yourself _cancer_? They won't even recycle polystyrene crap anymore because of all the chemicals it throws into the atmosphere! And you're putting hot liquid in it and then _drinking_ it? You _moron_!”

“Ah, the dulcet tones of true love,” Kisame says dryly, picking his way down the stairs on the far side of the room, flashlight in hand. “Tobi, do we need to get a stretcher in here, or is the rest of you working as well as your lungs?”

Obito flips him off, but probably tellingly, he doesn’t try to pull away from Kakashi. “Just for that, Beast, you're helping me up the stairs.”

Kisame grins at him, all sharp teeth and threatening humor. “Oh, far be it from me to tread on lover-boy’s knightly toes. Should I get you a tiara to go with all the distress?”

Obito bares his teeth right back. “Just wait until I'm recovered, bastard. I think everyone needs a refresher course in hand-to-hand, don’t you?”

It is eminently satisfying to watch Kisame blanch.

Smirking, Obito wraps his arm over Kakashi's shoulders, lets his boyfriend secure an arm around his chest, and starts his arduous hobble up the stairs. “Everyone’s all right?” he demands. “And go get Zabuza, we can dump him in the gutter and he’ll owe us one.”

“Testy, testy,” Kisame mutters, but ducks into the room and emerges a moment later with the man slung over his shoulder. As he follows them up, he taps his earpiece and murmurs, “This is Beast. Tobi secured. Sound off.” A moment of listening, and then he nods. “Everyone’s fine. Angel and Gardener grabbed Gato, and the rest are working their way through the building. Pretty boy wants to know if he can blow it up.”

Obito debates this, decides he’s not at all opposed, and agrees. “Only once we’re clear. And tell him to make it look like an accident.”

Kisame chuckles darkly as he relays the message, and Obito glances up a little to see Kakashi watching him with an odd expression on his face. It makes his heart sink a little, but he braces himself and says, “If you're going to dump me for being a barely-reformed terrorist, can you at least wait to do it until I'm in a hospital bed? I think a scene like that’ll successfully fulfil the drama quotient of this disaster.”

Kakashi chuckles softly, fingers curving gently around Obito's side and stroking gently over his heart. “Well,” he says lightly. “If that’s what you want. _I_ was just planning to tell you how unbelievably sexy you look when you're causing widespread destruction and taking charge.”

Pushing open the door at the top of the stairs, Kisame snickers. “Lover-boy, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Wait until you get him in a warzone with his knives and a couple of guns. There's a reason Pein followed him around like a smitten puppy for four years, you know. Almost enough to get me hard just thinking about it.”

Obito might gag a little bit, and this time he’s certain it’s not solely because of the concussion. “Damn it, Beast, keep that to yourself. I have no interest in what gets you going. And if I _ever_ catch you fantasizing about me, I’ll castrate you and make you _eat it_.”

“I hope you know you're only exacerbating the problem,” Sasori says dryly, rounding a doorway with a gun in one hand and a military-grade tablet in the other. “Beast is…fond of danger.” Sharp eyes survey him for a moment, and then the hacker nods. “I'm glad you are alive. Permission to upload the contents of Gato’s servers to the police network? The tech escaped, but I managed to hack his network before the power went down.”

Obito waves a hand in agreement, trying to ignore the relief he feels at knowing Zabuza’s kid got away. He’s a criminal, after all, not heartless. “Go ahead. Is everyone ready to pull out?”

Sasori smiles thinly. “Angel is just finishing her discussion with Gato, and Bomber is setting up by the gas line. Everyone else is reconvening outside.”

Having a decent idea of what Konan's “discussion” entails, Obito winces a little. “Good,” he murmurs. “Tell her to hurry it up; I want us gone well before anything starts exploding. If Gato gets out in time, bully for him. If he doesn’t…”

Kisame laughs. “Salt and burn it is,” he says cheerfully, and then touches his comm, passing on the order.

Sasori’s dark eyes are on Kakashi, and he looks thoughtful. “You don’t appear to be troubled, Detective,” he says shrewdly. “Are you sure this isn’t going against your oaths?”

Obito looks, too, but Kakashi's expression is easy, even. He looks back at Obito, eyes crinkling in a faint smile, and says, “Remind me to tell you about my years in the Rangers. I'm not used to doing this so close to home, but a change of pace is nice sometimes.”

“Hm.” Sasori studies him for one more moment and then nods. “If you wish to apply for a position as a second handler for our team, I will support you,” he says bluntly, then turns and heads for the door, sweeping rooms for any remaining threats as he goes.

“Same here,” Kisame agrees, and then waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Tobi works a hell of a lot better when he’s being _handled_ , anyways.” Still snickering, he clumps out, Zabuza dangling over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I hate them,” Obito growls, clinging to Kakashi as he limps down the hall. “Hate them, hate them, hate them, _hate_ them.”

Kakashi just chuckles. “But it’s an idea,” he says, and that note in his voice is definitely hopeful.

“You're an idiot,” Obito informs him testily. “All the polystyrene has rotted your _brain_. If you even so much as _think_ about it, I’ll—”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Kakashi says, amused, and helps him down the front steps. The rest of the team, minus Konan and Deidara, are grouped around the van, and six pairs of eyes snap to Obito immediately when he stumbles on his bad ankle. Obito waves them off, trying to catch his breath, but doesn’t fight when Nagato slides under his other arm to offer a little more support.

“Snake is waiting for us,” the redhead says calmly. “He wanted to know if his stitches for the graze were holding. I made sure to inform him that it was a _different_ bullet wound this time. Somehow I do not think he was impressed.”

“Joy,” Obito says flatly, letting Kakashi and Nagato heave him into the van and ease him down onto one of the seats. Hidan, Kakuzu, Zetsu, and Kisame file past to take a seat on the floor in the back, and Sasori settles into the driver’s seat while Nagato takes shotgun. A moment later, Deidara bounces out of the building with Konan on his heels, and they both slide into the bench seat behind Obito and Kakashi.

“Five minutes until _art_ ,” Deidara says rapturously. “Tobi, can we stay and see—”

“ _No_ ,” Obito and Konan hiss at the same time. They trade glances, even as Nagato snorts softly and Kisame cackles.

“So,” the big man says cheerfully, leaning over the back of Konan's seat as the van pulls smoothly away from the curb. “Saw that cousin of yours while I was poking around your apartment, Tobi. Think I can wrangle an introduction?”

“ _Sasuke_?” Obito bites out, ignoring the pain to turn as much as he’s able and fix Kisame with a horrified glare. “He’s _seventeen_!”

“What? No!” Kisame waves his hands. “The other one—the _older_ one! With the long hair!”

The panic recedes, and Obito breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh, you mean Itachi. You do know he can probably kill you with just a pinky, right? He was the youngest SWAT captain in the history of the precinct.”

Kisame’s smile turns alarmingly gooey. “Yeah,” he says blissfully. “Kinda got that impression. So?”

It’s a terrible idea, but Obito rolls his eye and nods regardless. He has a history of bad ideas that maybe sort of end as something not completely terrible. Like dating Kakashi, for one. “Sure,” he agrees blandly. “Why not. Watching his reaction will at least be entertaining.”

“You think he’ll be horrified?” Kakashi asks interestedly, his fingers tracing abstract patterns on the back on Obito's neck.

Obito snorts. “What? No. Ten to one odds he’ll be smitten on sight. Kisame’s exactly his type.”

Kakashi's face goes through a series of contortions as he clearly tries to reconcile _Itachi_ and _smitten_. Also probably _Kisame_ and _his type_. Obito pats his arm consolingly.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” he soothes. “It’s better to just leave it alone.”

“Can we stop for coffee?” Deidara asks plaintively from the back. “I'm running on fumes, un.”

“No,” Sasori answers flatly, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled. A taxi cuts him off, and he snarls out a blistering curse and stands on the horn. In the passenger seat, Nagato winces and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Twenty bucks says we crash before we make it ten blocks,” Hidan says, grinning.

“Thirty on making it twelve,” Zetsu counters.

“You're both idiots,” Kakuzu huffs. “Fifty bucks we hit the power pole on the next corner.”

Konan makes a sound like a discontented cat. “The next person who so much as implies we’re going to crash has to come dress shopping with me,” she threatens, and then raises her voice. “Nagato, if you let him crash I'm telling Yahiko about Tunisia.”

“You are not,” Nagato bites out, horror clear in his tone. Despite his denial, he reaches for the door handle. “Sasori, pull over. I'm driving.”

Sasori lays on the horn again, cutting off a moving truck with a vicious snarl. “I can get us there in ten minutes.”

“And I can get us there _alive_. Pull over.”

“Sure you still want to hop onboard this crazy train?” Obito murmurs, twining his fingers with Kakashi's. “This is nothing. Missions are a hundred times worse. Then we actually _want_ Sasori to drive.”

Gently, fondly, Kakashi squeezes his hand. “Maa,” he says carelessly. “I think I’ll survive. Someone has to be your knight in shining armor, right?”

Sasori takes the corner a little too sharply, and Obito gives Kakashi just enough of a pointed shove that he goes tumbling off the seat with a yelp.

“Not a damsel, fuck you _very_ much,” he spits. “Sasori, evasive maneuvers. Get us there in seven minutes and you can pick what we watch on movie night.”

The expression that crosses the hacker’s face is very close to maniacal. “Mission accepted,” he agrees, as close to cheerful as he ever gets, and floors it.

Kakuzu whimpers something that sounds very much like “No more art documentaries, please!” even as Nagato goes white in the face and grabs for the oh-shit handle. Konan sighs, deeply put-upon, while Deidara yelps and throws himself bodily over the back of the seat and onto his gear—and, more accidentally, on top of a swearing Zetsu. Kisame and Hidan laugh like the lunatics they are, clinging to the straps as the van bounces over the curb, skims a tree, a biker, and a street lamp, then cuts sideways through traffic and pulls a screeching U-turn onto a side street.

With admirable athleticism, Kakashi grabs the leg of the seat, hauls himself back onto the bench, and grabs Obito's hand again. “You're amazing,” he says besottedly, landing a glancing kiss on the corner of Obito's mouth.

“I might throw up on you,” Obito warns him, faintly green. The wild driving is definitely not helping his concussion.

Kakashi laughs and kisses his forehead fondly. “That’s all right,” he assures him. “I’ll still love you anyway.”

“Ah, true love,” Kisame sighs, still hanging halfway over the back of the seat. “If you start talking about weddings, _I_ might hurl. Just to warn you.”

With a thoughtful noise, Kakashi tilts his head. “Kakashi Uchiha is an awful name,” he says, sounding considering.

Obito can't believe this asshole. “And Obito Hatake would be so much better?” he hisses, refusing to acknowledge that he has actually thought about this before.

Kakashi beams at him. “Sure,” he agrees. “Let’s go with that. I’ll pick the papers up from the courthouse tomorrow.”

Obito stares. No. There's no way the asshole would—in a van with all his friends watching—while he has a _concussion_ —

“I hate you,” he says faintly. “Oh my god, you absolute _bastard, did you just propose to me?_ ”

Kakashi's smile simply widens. “Did you just say yes?” he counters.

“Yes,” Obito blurts, obviously because of head trauma. And blood loss. Possibly long-buried mental instability as well.

“I call dibs on best man,” Konan says immediately, because all of Obito's friends are _awful_.

From the front, Nagato makes a disconsolate sound. “I was going to call it,” he complains.

For a long moment, Konan just eyes him. Then she smiles. It’s utterly terrifying. “I’ll fight you for it.”

Nagato gives her a wary look. “Never mind. I’ve always wanted to be a ring-bearer anyway. But Rin might take you up on that.”

“I’ll be flower girl!” Deidara puts in.

“And I’ll finally get to officiate a wedding.” Hidan sounds deeply pleased.

“I’ll pick the flowers and find an appropriate suit,” Zetsu volunteers.

“Music,” Sasori puts in, wrenching the wheel to the side just in time to miss a bus.

“I'll take care of food,” Kisame says, and grins like a shark. “And booze.”

Kakuzu hums. “I will rearrange accounts and create a budget. See me for funds. And I will try to find a honeymoon destination that avoids any countries with active warrants.”

“Hate you,” Obito mutters, pressing his hands over his face. “Oh my god, I hate you, I hate you _collectively_.”

They laugh at him, because they're bastards. But Kakashi takes his hands in his own and kisses his knuckles, smiling brightly. “Thank you,” he whispers against Obito's skin.

Definitely head trauma. Possibly insanity. But Obito grabs for him anyway, pulls him in and kisses him hard, because this is without a doubt another terrible idea.

And somehow, some way, Obito's terrible ideas have a habit of turning out all right.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [How You Get The Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843839) by [blackholenipples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholenipples/pseuds/blackholenipples)




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